


How It Started

by killingg_eve



Series: Oksana & Mommy [3]
Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Mommy Kink, the beginning basically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:14:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28474512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killingg_eve/pseuds/killingg_eve
Summary: How did Eve become "Mommy"? Possibly via a slip of the tongue.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Series: Oksana & Mommy [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2069202
Comments: 10
Kudos: 76





	How It Started

**Author's Note:**

> I think I should have edited this, once more, but I'm impatient!
> 
> Also, I don't fully understand Ao3 and I wish that the Series could be rearranged in an order that i would prefer. Hmm.... Please let me know if you're an expert in this. Thanks!
> 
> Happy New Year <3 xo

Eve moans while Villanelle’s tongue laps against her clit. She reaches down, hoping to find Villanelle’s hand to hold onto. She tilts her head up off of the bed, and then she _sees_.

Villanelle’s hand works frantically in her own underwear, occupied.

Eve groans and rests her searching hand on top of Villanelle’s head, and then she falls back and bucks her hips.

**

Villanelle had initiated sex in a typical way. She’d climbed on top of Eve, a while after dinner. Eve, who was relaxing and watching a K-drama in bed. Villanelle’s words were rotten when she really wanted it, and Eve listened to the profanity with her mouth agape. Something Villanelle husked about “your dripping, aching cunt” was what it took for Eve to settle her back down against the mattress, eyes wide and dark, going completely limp and powerless while her t-shirt and pajama shorts got pulled off of her and tossed aside.

Eve felt like prey. Open, exposed, and without a choice in the matter. And she liked it—liked having Villanelle as predator. She was always embarrassingly wet by the time Villanelle pulled her underwear off, even though her arousal started from zero.

A single word could change everything, though.

**

Villanelle continues to work at Eve’s clit, and Eve notices how sweet Villanelle’s eye contact becomes, over time. Eve’s hand has only been resting atop Villanelle’s head, so she starts to pet at the silky, golden strands with her thumb.

Villanelle mews and sucks Eve’s clit into her mouth, and she bobs her head up and down.

Eve realizes that Villanelle is becoming more and more tame. It’s a gradual de-escalation, every time she gets something that she wants. Eve considers that maybe Villanelle believes that she still has the reigns, but that belief could be untrue.

Eve tests the waters. “Yeah,” she breathes, “so good.” It’s so soft, in comparison to Villanelle’s prowess.

Villanelle stops sucking as much and starts to press kisses, instead. She hums and her eyes sparkle with affection.

That’s how Eve _knows_.

“Baby,” Eve addresses her.

Villanelle hums again, and her stomach tightens with desire.

Eve knows that Villanelle likes praise, so she uses it to try to get what she wants.

“So good,” Eve pants, “for mommy.” Her voice turns up at the end. And then her voice shuts off completely.

Everything stops. Villanelle removes her mouth and only stares. Eve breathes quickly and her heart pounds, and she feels afraid and full of regret. She meant to distract Villanelle, slip her hands under the reigns and take hold. She didn’t mean to do it this way, though. She didn’t intend to say _that word_.

They stare at each other, and then Eve rushes out a stammered apology.

“S-Sorry!”

Villanelle stays on her knees and continues to stare, looking lost. Numb. Distant.

Eve is terrified that Villanelle will leave. Maybe she’s angry. Maybe she’s upset. Maybe she’s hurt beyond repair. Those possibilities aren’t something Eve can fathom; hurting Villanelle, especially, is not an option. So, Eve cups Villanelle’s cheek . . . soothes with her thumb. Back and forth over a high cheekbone. Pretty face. Soft skin. Over and over.

Eve whispers, “You didn’t like that at all, did you?” She wants to kiss Villanelle, take the edge off. Like using endorphins as a painkiller.

“Oh,” Villanelle breathes, coming back to herself. “You can . . .” she nods, “. . . yeah.”

Eve is even more confused, now. “’Yeah’ as in . . . you aren’t upset?” Eve asks. Her thumb stills out of concern.

Villanelle shakes her head, the slightest bit.

Eve tilts her head. Wishes she could go inside Villanelle’s mind and listen to her thoughts. She doesn’t understand what Villanelle means or how she feels. If Villanelle is hurting, Eve doesn’t know where, or how much, or how to fix it.

_If she’s not upset_ … Eve thinks. She asks, “Did you—are—were you okay with it?”

Villanelle’s eyebrows raise. A smile flashes across her face and then dissolves, and then she looks empty, again. She nods.

Eve takes a deep breath, without even realizing it. And her body threatens fight or flight when she asks, “Could I say it again?” quickly followed by, “Would you like that?”

“Yes,” Villanelle says, immediately. Another nod.

_Oh._ Eve sits up. She wants to feel closer; she wants both of them to feel safe.

“Are you Mommy’s girl?”

Another flash of a smile. It’s longer, this time, and her eyes glimmer. It’s unmistakable, now.

Eve starts brushing her thumb over the cheekbone, again. The way Villanelle has softened is so unique and new. Eve knows it, now; she thinks she’s reading this all correctly: Villanelle’s blank stare is a result of feeling small, rather than upset.

“Oh, baby,” Eve whispers. And then she follows with something even more risky than everything else. “C-Can . . .”

_Oh god_.

But Villanelle looks soft and patient. She listens. Doesn’t speak unprompted.

“Can I call you,” and Eve drops to a whisper, “ _Oksana_?”

Villanelle returns to herself, for a moment. She gasps at the question and her eyes go dark. She makes her way up Eve’s body. She’s in Eve’s face, borrowing the reigns, again, as though she never let them fall.

Eve’s arm drops to her side and she falls back onto her elbows. Her expression turns to fear . . . the type of fear she has when Villanelle wields a knife.

“ _You’re_ the only one who gets to do that,” Villanelle barks so intensely that the final word lands with spittle. “And don’t tell _anyone_ about it—not Konstantin, not Carolyn, not _Bill’s_ friend—”

“—El—Elena,” interrupts Eve. (Quietly, terrified, and remembering the wounds in Bill’s chest.)

“Not _Elena_ ,” Villanelle gnashes, “not _anyone_.”

Eve nods while she speaks. “Yes . . .,” Eve hesitates and then addresses her respectfully. “Yes, Villanelle.”

Villanelle sits back on her heals and calms her breathing. Her eyes lose their demonic glow and then they’re pale green, again. Her once-red cheeks fade to pink.

Eve knows that Villanelle won’t return to the headspace without guidance.

“You okay?” Eve asks, softly. Without meaning to, she asks like she’s talking to a dog or a cat or a baby.

Villanelle’s face relaxes and she looks at Eve and nods. Her eyes become glossy, almost as though she feels sorry. Maybe she feels as though she has misbehaved.

Eve crooks her finger. “Come back up here,” she says. She lies herself all the way down.

Villanelle does. She scoots her way up until she’s leaning on her arms and looking down at Eve, and then she stalls—suspended—waiting for more instructions.

It’s endearing, Eve thinks, and she envelopes Villanelle and pulls her down . . . down, further down . . . against her chest. Under her chin. Eve holds Villanelle against herself. The hand on top of Villanelle’s head starts stroking through her hair, again.

“Baby girl,” soothes Eve, guiding Villanelle back down under.

“Say it,” Villanelle requests. (The meaning is clear: _“You can say it, now.”_ )

“ _Oksana_.” Eve doesn’t hesitate. She breathes the three syllables as affectionately as she can. She knows that the name was chosen with care, but doesn’t know anything about the ways in which it was used, over the years.

Oksana exhales and turns her face inward, against Eve’s chest. Making a home of the space.

“Are you gonna . . . will you say it, too?” Eve asks.

Oksana nestles into Eve’s chest, as though she doesn’t want to move. But she does; she turns her head. She makes eye contact and rests her chin on Eve’s chest and says, “Mommy.”

It feels good. Eve smiles. She likes it. She feels protective, now. She thinks that a world of possibilities has opened up for them. “What do you want to do, now, Oksana?” she asks.

The answer is immediate. “I want to make you feel good.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Eve sighs, realizing that Villanelle truly wants nothing other than to spend time with her, or touch her, or get her off. She remembers the growling from earlier and treats this with the same urgency. She pets at Oksana’s hair and replies, “Mommy would love that.”

Oksana situates herself between Eve’s legs again, starting to suckle.

“Vi— _ohh_ —Oh my god, baby,” Eve pants.

“How do I do this?” Oksana asks, even though she’s already started.

“Just like that . . . just keep going,” Eve pleads.

Oksana starts to flick hard and fast, and even though it should be too soon, Eve cries out and thinks she could come, soon.

“M-More, baby,” Eve begs.

“Hmm?” Oksana hums against nerve endings.

“Mommy needs . . . your fingers,” Eve stammers. She takes a breath in between.

Oksana sinks two fingers in, but she does not curl them. She starts a rhythm.

“Oksana,” Eve begs, pained, “be a good girl.” She bucks her hips and hopes her words will be received well.

“Like this?” Oksana asks, smiling mischievously. She taps her fingertips against Eve’s g-spot, and she’s satisfied when the sudden change causes Eve to cry out in raw pleasure. She slips her other hand back into her own underwear and uses the same rhythm on herself that she’s using on Eve.

“Fuck, sweetie, that’s perfect!”

Oksana whines and starts to mew soft, high-pitched sounds against Eve’s clit, and that’s when Eve realizes how pleasurable their newfound words for each other are.

“Mommy!” Oksana cries, when she’s incredibly close.

Eve comes at the next stroke of Oksana’s fingers, and then she registers that Oksana needs her. She prioritizes Oksana’s pleasure over her own.

Eve is still throbbing when she clenches her teeth in pleasured pain and commands, “Come here!” in desperation. She doesn’t care how badly it hurts when Oksana’s fingers pull out of her at the tail-end of her orgasm, and she pulls Oksana up. Eve settles Oksana over her face and tells her, “Sit,” and she pulls Oksana’s underwear to the side and gets to work, frantically.

Oksana takes deep, labored breaths and holds onto the headboard while Eve’s tongue laps against her in broad, relentless strokes. Villanelle’s stomach tightens, and she starts to see stars. She grinds down on Eve’s mouth and feels Eve’s grip on her thighs loosen—Eve is encouraging her, letting her take what she wants. She whines and grinds her hips, again, and then she’s coming in Eve’s mouth. Her clit throbs against Eve’s tongue until she can’t take it, at which point she leans her weight into her arms and lifts herself up.

Eve says, “Come here,” again—for the final time—and it’s possibly the gentlest of any time she has ever made the request.

Oksana’s legs still shake while she shifts herself over and lies herself down next to Eve.

They lay together, sideways, facing each other. Eve pulls the covers up and focuses on warming Oksana. She covers Oksana, all the way up to her shoulders, and then she pulls Oksana in. She hugs Oksana against her chest, again. Eve strokes her fingers through honey-colored hair and murmurs “shhh”.

“Such a sweet girl,” she says, “Oksana.”

And it’s true. Eve has never seen Villanelle so pliant and soft. Villanelle is nervous and gentle, like this, and she lets Eve lead.

“Was I good?” Oksana says. She doesn’t mean for it to sound as whiny and needy and desperate as it does.

“Oh,” sighs Eve, and she squeezes Oksana into a tighter embrace. “You were _wonderful_ , for me.”

Oksana gasps, and without meaning to, she exposes years and years of horrible insecurities.

“I’ve never been good before this, Mommy.”

Eve lifts Oksana’s chin and rests their foreheads together, not allowing Oksana to become lost.

“That’s not true, baby,” Eve says. “You’ve been good every day of your life. Talented . . . hardworking . . . _so_ smart. But nobody _told_ you that you were good.”

“Am I good enough for you, but not for them?” Oksana asks.

“ _No_ ,” Eve barks. It’s much louder than she intended. She whispers an apology and soothes her girl. And then she calms herself and clarifies, “They were never good enough for _you_.” She says it bitterly and defensively.

Oksana is quiet, for a moment, and then she says, “But you’re good enough for me, Mommy. You’re better than me, I think. You’re the best.”

Eve has to consider her response. “Mm . . . You’re such a good girl, whether I’m here with you or somewhere else. A good girl, independent of me.”

Oksana squeezes herself against Eve and _begs_. “But I want you _here_ , . . . always, always, always with me, Mommy!”

“—And you’ve got me, here. Forever. Always yours.” Eve says it quickly; equally desperate.

Oksana starts to exhale with relief, but Eve’s lips catch hers, and Eve kisses her slow and deep and long.

Oksana’s cheeks blush light pink, and her eyes want to close with the bliss of everything and lull her to sleep, but she pushes herself to speak. “I’m always yours, too, Mommy.”

Eve hears Villanelle, underneath. Eve knows Villanelle wanted those words to show through.

“My baby,” Eve whispers, stroking Oksana’s cheek. “My good girl,” she praises. “Go to sleep for me,” she requests.

Oksana is intentional about situating herself under Eve’s chin, again, against Eve’s chest. But then, she closes her eyes and lets go, completely, and falls asleep.


End file.
